


Don't Be An Ass

by cannibalisticshadows



Series: Lessons in Stubbornness [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Borderline Beastiality, Centaurs, F/M, Horses & Donkeys, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Non-Human Genitalia, Onocentaurs, Other, Past Rape/Non-con, Shameless Smut, Size Difference, but not really?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-03-07 13:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13435548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cannibalisticshadows/pseuds/cannibalisticshadows
Summary: Times are tough down on the French farm, but luckily Belle's got a partner to help... In the form of six limbs and four hooves.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> i have hit rockbottom of my personal rumbelle hell

The farm went to shit when Philippe died.

It was only a matter of time, Moe told his daughter, before their old Clydesdale bit the dust. He had been old and slow, hard of hearing and sight, but had served the French farm faithfully until he drew his last breath.

Belle had mourned his death. At least, the best way she could in every available second. Without Philippe, even though he did so little in his last days, working the farm had been a tremendous struggle. Moe was not as strong as he use to be as a young man, and Belle was a bookish, curious woman rapidly reaching her spinster years. 

Not two whole months after Philippe’s death had the farm crumbled. Their crops were dying, the weeds growing far more than either could handle, and harvesting time had produced so little money that they feared having to sell the farm.

“We can’t do that,” she told him fiercely, slapping the palm of her hand on the table. It caused her father to jump, but not by much. Belle wasn’t a violent person by nature, far from it, and Moe had been drinking. “This farm is our life!”

“We have to face facts, my girl! We’re poor! You don’t have the strength to do a farmer’s job, and I’m old!”

“Strength? I have strength! Or is it that I’m a woman?”

“Belle—“

They were both right and wrong. Poor as they were, it was as sinful as walking into a church naked as the day she was born when one of the townsmen saw her working the fields like a man would.

She had tried to do as much as she could, but just milking their three dairy goats were not enough. Her father was next to incapable of caring for the farm, so she forced herself into the farmer's trade, despite Moe's disapproval. But even by her simplest amounts of effort on the farm, Belle was already being cut off from the community. Now Belle was an alien to the “good people” of Blacksgrove. 

No man would marry her; Belle was too odd, had lost her maidenhood years ago, was past the age of being anyone’s blushing young bride, and too smart for a normal woman. Now she was wearing pants and doing a man's job. No man would so much as touch her, now, much less look at her... A decent man, anyway.

It was not a husband she wanted—she knew having a husband, just another man, on the French farm would be beneficial. Other than that she was not complaining. 

“Why don’t we get a some hired help? We can offer food and shelter until we can pay them in full.”

“And feed him what? Both of us went to bed hungry last night! Besides, look at this mess—“ Moe gestured to the bleak, dusty house with his mug of whiskey. “You’re too busy trying to be a _man_ to do your duty as a woman!”

Ignoring the last bit, she tried, “What about a work animal?”

But this was a pointless question. They had no money, hardly any food, therefor nothing to get the animal to work on. Plus, they had sold their one and only cow last month. The goats were slowly going, too. 

Moe gave her a weathered look. But Belle had one last card to play.

“What—what about getting a Taur?”

He choked on his whiskey. Sputtering, he hacked and spat until he could get a breath. “You’ve got to be joking,” he wheezed, staring at her in disbelief. “Isn’t _five_ enough for this town? What will they think of a sixth? And where the hell would we get the money for that? They’re worth more than a golden ring, girl.”

“We could get a loan—or have small payments each month! It wouldn’t have to be a purebred, just a simple, sturdy one—“

“This is _madness_ —!“

“And once we have the farm back on its feet, we can rent he or she out to a neighbor in need—“

“Belle, I said _NO!_ ”

Belle flinched as his hand abruptly came down to hit the table, with far more will behind it than she ever dared herself. Dust scattered as the wooden, rocky table shook with the violence of the blow. She stayed her tongue—and her breath.

Moe slammed his mug down. Glaring, he barked, “No help. No work animal. And for fuck’s sake, especially no Taur! We’re getting rid of the farm. If we can’t get some sorry soul to get interested in this shit piece of land by the end of this month, you’ll have to pay the rent warming the landlord's bed.”

As if slapped, Belle stumbled back until she was a good several feet away from him. The ends of her baggy pant legs scrapped the floor. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, my girl, I _do_. We’ve barely got a pot to piss in, much less money to pay that bastard. If I can’t sell, you’ve got to spread your legs.”

Belle huffed, told herself not to weep, and stormed out of the house with her head held high. She would find a way to save the farm. She always found a way.


	2. The Order

Taurs were valuable as spun gold.

People could make so much money off just one of these powerful beasts without so much as a lick of training. They were strong, resilient, and went up and beyond the accomplishments of any animal—or human. With the upper torso of a man and the body of a hooved creature, any workingman was lucky to have at least one. Communication was easy between humans and Taurs, too, making things so much more uncomplicated, unlike working with a normal work animal.

“Taur” was a wide name for a range of human-equidae hybrids: centaurs, onocentaurs, cervitaurs, even the rarely seen ichthyocentaur. 

Only four people in the entire town of Blacksgrove owned a Taur—all of them centaurs. 

There was Mr. LeFou and his prided Gaston, a strapping stallion that galloped around town flashing off his numerous skills. Across town there was Mr. King and his two Taurs: James, a showy stallion with a dark-blonde hair, and David, James’s chivalrous twin brother. Down past the church there was Mr. Duke and his stallion: Hordor, a black-coated stallion with a terrifyingly self-righteous attitude. 

And finally there was Mayor Mills, who had the fifth and only female Taur in Blacksgrove: Zelena, a ruddy mare with a bossy, controlling streak. 

As far as Belle knew about Taurs in Blacksgrove, they were a prideful, powerful race. All of the town’s centaurs were hard to get along with, in her opinion, except David, who was kind and polite to everyone. 

From this, it was clear centaurs could possess personalities as complex as humans—it was no secret centaurs could be companions as well as bondsmen. 

Belle breathed in a mighty breath and let it out with a determined sigh. True, she and her father had no money to spare, but once they did make money (a Taur would no doubt help to do that) monthly payments could be carried out. Patting her hat down firmer on her head, Belle strolled down the dirt road beside the barren fields of farmland, speckled trees dotting the horizon. Down the road stood town, where she could see the hustle and bustle of a busy day. 

They lived on the edge of the town on the hill—outcasts, even before the farm’s decline. 

By the time Belle reached town, the sun was high in the sky and people hurried about in their afternoon wear. Ladies carried umbrellas as their big skirts bobbed on their hips, with men tipping their hats in greeting. Men leaving or returning to the mines lumbered by with sun-tanned faces and dirty hands, pushing carts of tools or goods by with panting mules. Cowboys trotted by on calm, docile horses and spat out chewing tobacco as they rode past. One in particular clicked his tongue in greeting, pulling his hat off to hold over his heart. “Good afta’noon, ma’am.”

“Evening, mister!”

Belle was overly aware of how the townspeople stared. In her baggy trousers, dirtied and worn dress shirt, blue fraying bodice, tight belt, and wide-brimmed hat, she looked so odd amongst the community. Like a leper, the townspeople tended to steer clear of her. Only outsiders treated her normally, or those who weren’t even human.

“Hey, Belle, lookin’ good.” _Speak of the Devil._ Gaston, LeFou’s Taur, greeted her in his deep, penetrating voice as he trotted up beside her. He was so tall compared to Belle, towering over her that her head barely came to his human-waist. His hair, tail, legs, and hooves were black as night; his horse-coat shined a rusty red-brown in the sunlight, and his twitching, bulging muscles moved so noticeably under his skin. Strapped with a shiny golden buckle around his lower body were sacks of goods, most likely produce from his handler’s farm. The Taurs often came to town with things to sell or deliver. 

“Hello Gaston,” Belle replied with a nod. “Where is your handler?”

“That bumbling buffoon?” The stallion groused before tossing his head back in a hearty chuckle. Turning back to her, he clenched his arm muscles, just like any man would went trying to emphasis his strength. “No idea, madam. Where’s a lovely girl like you headed off to on this fine, sunny day?”

“I’m actually looking to acquire a Taur myself. How did LeFou come to be your handler?”

He pursed his lips in thought. “Beats me,” he said, flicking his long black tail. “Some company that breeds us. The mayor has connections.”

“Oh, thank you! That helps a lot.”

“Glad to be of help,” Gaston leered, and abruptly sped up to veer in front of her, blocking her path with the side of his body. Her head could barely see over his horse-back. But now that she was facing him this way, she could visibly see his cock protruding out of its sheath. It wasn’t the first time he flashed himself in public. “You know, Belle, I can lend a hand at your farm. No need for another centaur! I’m sure LeFou won’t mind—“

“Thank you but no thank you,” she said tersely, pivoting on her feet to maneuver around him. “I need to talk to Mayor Mills as soon as possible.”

Gaston gracefully skipped to follow, his galloping hooves audible against the dusty ground. “Are you free later? Maybe we can ride down to the river—“

“Do _you_ have time? I imagine LeFou is looking for you—Oh look, there he is now!”

It wasn’t that she was afraid of Gaston—he’d always liked to talk to her. Before Philippe’s death, the centaur had been a bit annoying, actually, but she had always preferred the company of creature over human—and Taurs were fascinating. Now with everyone avoiding her, she managed to welcome the company of Blacksgrove’s centaurs. Just a little, at least. But right now Belle had a mission, and letting Gaston chat her up was not on the agenda today. 

Gaston turned his head around to look, eyes scanning the crowd keenly. Seeing him fooled as he looked for his squat, nervous handler, Belle darted off and took a short cut behind the saloon, where one of the working girls on the porch waved her lacy handkerchief at Belle. They knew how desperate she and her father was. 

A man trying to tie luggage to his horse cussed as she nearly ran into him, shouting curses as she continued on. Boots scrapping the earth, pumping her legs to go as fast as possible, she then leapt up over a fence. One hand on her hat, the other suspended midair to keep balance. Her jump was smooth, but her landing was not, and she lost her balance once her feet hit the ground. Stumbling, she rammed into a wagon. It jostled a bit as she hit it.

“Och!” A man yelled in surprise, waddling over as she fell backwards onto her rump. She landed with a loud _humph_ , wincing as her hands scratched small sun-heated pebbles and rocks. 

“Sorry,” Belle apologized, pulling herself up with an embarrassed look. She wiped dust off her pants, willing her blush to die down. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Clearly,” the man snapped. “Why ya runnin’? Lass like ya, should have a damn steed tae rod.”

The man was old, she studied, with shifty, clouded eyes and well wrinkled features. He was balding in most placed atop his head. Besides that, he spoke with a foreign accent Belle had never heard before. “I’m actually looking to get one.”

“Humph.” His eyes looked her up and down. The old man opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to change his mind and shut it. “Ye best get along, then.”

Uninterested to stay anyway, Belle brushed off her hat, sat it back on her head, and continued on. 

Swerving around the man’s covered wagon, she readied to bolt again across the street, until she reached Town Hall. But something made her pause.

Inside of the arched wagon, through the yellowed cotton cover, she saw something move. It was dark inside, giving her little freedom to inspect the goods the old man had, but she saw something shift in the shadows, and the soft sigh of something… something _alive_.

“Wit’ya standing for? Get!”

Scrambling, Belle forced her curiosity aside and carried on.

~.~.~.~

 

“I’m sorry but the mayor’s busy,” Zelena said with deep exasperation, rolling her eyes. The ginger mare tossed her long hair back as she barely gave Belle a second glance. A tight green and black bodice and dress shirt clung to the mare’s upper torso. 

“But—“

“Belle,” the mare snapped, “you better go before I have to kick you out!“

Town Hall was smack-dab in the middle of town. It was a nice building compared to the rest of town, and was built with stone instead of wood. Meetings could be held here, and Mills had her office here, too. Zelena, Mill’s mare centaur, was more or less a secretary for the mayor. Belle was confronted with the Taur the moment she walked into the building. 

“It’s important,” Belle insisted, trying to move around the ginger. The Taur, though, was graceful on her hooves and prevented Belle from getting to the mayor’s office. “I really need to speak with—“

“What’s this about?”

Belle and Zelena’s heads jerked to the interrupter. Mayor Mills, dressed impeccably as ever, stood at the entrance to her office with her arms crossed. The raven-haired woman turned to her Taur, and then to Belle.

“Miss French.”

“Madam Mayor.”

Mills glanced over the younger woman’s head, behind her. Wrinkling her nose, she turned back to Belle. “You come alone. State your business, then.”

Zelena huffed loud, smirking proudly. “She was just leaving—“ 

“Quiet, girl,” Mills ordered with a clear demand. “Leave us and go pick up the things I needed from the market.” Instantly, the mare shut her mouth. Her eyes, though, glared with hate. Shooting Belle one last judgmental dagger, the red mare turned around and departed the room with a sassy flick of her tail.

“Thank you, Ma—“

“Come on, Miss French, I don’t have all day,” the woman said with an impatient wave of her hand. Like a dog called to its master, Belle beamed and followed the mayor into the office. Once inside Mills shut the door, and ordered Belle to take a seat.

She poured a tumbler of whiskey, and was generous enough to offer Belle one. She took it graciously.

“Now,” Mills said, sitting down at her desk as she adjusted her black day dress. “Tell me why you’ve come. Is it money troubles again? I expected that from your father, my dear, not you.”

Belle swallowed guiltily. It didn’t surprise her that Moe went around begging. “I’m not asking for money, madam. I’m looking into getting a Taur.”

Mills’s honey eyes shot up in surprise. Without a word, she set her tumbler down and reached into her desk drawer, where she drew out a thin cigar. Cutting the end off and striking a match to light it, she breathed out a big breath of gray smoke in Belle’s direction. Coughing, the russet-haired girl waved her hand to blow the smoke away.

“A Taur. And you’ve come to me? Do you—actually have money for that?”

“No, but, I can pay more than it’s worth at a later date—“

Mills flicked her hand in a dismissive manner. “I’ve heard several deals for Taurs in this town. A lot of people are waiting for a purebred, didn’t you know?”

“Yes. I’m not looking for perfection, though. I want something that can work.”

The mayor took another huff of her cigar, seated on her chair like a queen on her throne. “You and many others.”

“Please!” Belle begged, pushing her chair back as she shoot up. Mills didn’t do so much as blink. “My farm—we can’t pay rent, and—“ her lower lip wobbled. “We need the help!”

Mills gave her a hard, serious stare. Her fingers began to tap rhythmically on the desk.

“Miss French, sit down. I know what you’re afraid of.”

“Y-You do?”

Sitting her cigar in a little ash dish, the raven-haired woman sat back and threaded her fingers together. “The life of a working girl isn’t so hard, my dear. You’d certainly make more money than you do now.”

Belle slammed the palm of her hand on the desk. Mills shot her a disapproving look—of which Belle ignored. “I don’t want to be a working girl! I can’t!”

A heavy silence hung in the air. Belle’s hand trembled in emotion as her heart beat furiously within her chest, piercing her eyes with the threat of tears. It terrified her just thinking of selling her body. And it wasn’t just the idea of having sex with strangers, either. It was the thought of her father, and his greasy drunken smirk, and fulfilling his claim that she would never be more useful than being a good fuck. She was brave enough to admit that she was scared. Very scared.

Mills picked up her cigar and took another huff. Closing her eyes, she seemed to be thinking hard. After a moment, she reopened them and looked at Belle.

“I… _may_ know of something.”

Belle’s head jerked up so fast it made the room spin. 

“But I’m not sure it would be easy—“

“I’ll take anything you give,” Belle said with all the determination she could muster, “I don’t care if it’s the ugliest Taur in the world. I just need one. _Anyone._ ”

Still frozen since Belle so passionately interrupted her, Mills softly closed her mouth tilted her head to the side. “…I’d say more, but I think you’ve already made up your mind.”

Hope swelled in her chest. “Yes! Yes! Whatever you’re offering, I’ll take it! I promise to pay back when I can! Double it!”

“Fine, then. Don’t listen to me,” she said flatly as she pulled out a contract from her desk. “The Taur I have in mind—Miss French, please know you can’t return it like something at the market. Taurs are living creatures.”

“I know,” Belle said, nodding furiously. “I tend to treat he or she as such. With respect.”

“Sometimes respect doesn’t cut it, my dear,” Mills said, fixing her ink pen. “Have you worked with a Taur before?”

“No, but—“

The mayor let out a sad, dark laugh. She scribbled on the paper, and set the pen down to fold it up. Tucking it into an envelope, she gave Belle a haughty look. “You better read up then, Miss French. Especially for _him._ ”

“H-Him? Oh, you already know the Taur? What’s his name—?“

“It’s irrelevant,” she said snippily, “this Taur is nothing state-of-the-art.”

“I don’t mind.”

“He’s a bit lame, actually. Fairly aged. No spring chicken.”

It bothered Belle a bit that Mills spoke of the Taur as if it was a used wagon for sell. But she pushed that aside and focused on the potential blessing at hand. This was more than Belle had hopped for! She should be overjoyed! “Oh, thank you, madam! Thank you!” Without giving the woman so much as a warning, Belle jumped up and went around the mayor’s desk, where she gave the other a bone-crushing hug. The mayor smelled like apples.

“Okay, I get it—!“ She struggled out of Belle’s hug, shooting the girl a confused, slightly irked look. Turning away, Mills brushed down her clothes as if to wipe of dust. “Warn me before attacking, please.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Now,” the mayor fiddled with the letter. “Go home and think your decision over. Buy plenty of rope. Do you have a crop?”

Belle frowned. Why would she need a riding crop? Granted, they had one with Philippe, but they rarely had to use it. Taurs could speak English—they didn’t need to be whipped. Right? “Um, yes, but—“

“Have it handy.” Mills turned to take a sip of her drink. Once she reset it back down, she added, “And let’s hope you haven’t made a deal you’ll soon regret, Miss French.”


	3. Lassoed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Onocentaur!Rumple's attitude/behavior shifts a lot in this chapter, but it will be explained in due time.

Four days later, a few days shy of Friday, rent day, Belle found herself standing at the gate of her farm with jittery, tummy-turning excitement. She wrung her hands together as she stood waiting that early morning, listening to the cicadas and far-off distant cries of cowboys and horses. A brief gust of wind blew by, cooling her heated cheeks. Even though she wore her hat often to keep sun from her eyes, the summer heat produced freckled on her cheeks. 

Moe had not been happy once Belle told him the good news. He’d screamed, sure, and threw a couple of things claiming she was the most aggravating, disrespecting daughter to have ever existed. He’d actually threatened to disown her, but Belle knew he wouldn’t. She knew he saw the potential in her.

What kind of potential—well, Belle wasn’t sure.

Later that day she received a letter from Zelena—who’d tossed the letter at her before bolting back to town—stating that her Taur would come in two-to-three day’s time. It also said Mills expected a fair amount of pay once a year had passed. This is, if Belle could “manage” the Taur.

She gulped as she heard the distant sound of hooves clopping. Just beyond the horizon towards town, a tiny dot of someone coming up the road neared in a covered wagon.

To her shock, it was someone she knew. It was the same old man she’d ran into the day she met with the mayor. 

Unsure if this was the man she was to wait for, she shyly took her hat off and waved in his direction. He waved back, and urged his horse on as he neared.

“Ye bea French?” he asked once he neared.

“Yes, mister!”

He huffed. “So, yer the sorry soul tae take ‘im. Best o’ luck, lassie.”

Belle ignored the last comment, but didn’t let herself forget it. The man groaned as he climbed off his horse, shooting Belle a curiously glance. She watched with a held breath as he went around to the back of the wagon. 

“Ah right, nae. Outcha gae, jackie.”

The wagon creaked as something heavy within moved. In amazement, Belle watched as the elderly man pulled the wagon’s covering open to let the Taur out.

The first thing she saw was his face. And that it was covered. A bag was over his head, tied around his neck with his arms tied at the wrist in rope, secured around his naked torso to keep his arms up. He whole body shook and trembled with strain as he was guided down on quivering, knobby equine legs. 

His legs, too, were tied together, leaving him awkward and clumsy as he was pulled off the wagon. The Taur stood no taller than Zelena, but was far from being as graceful or slender around his equine parts like the other centaurs.

It was because, Belle saw with shock, he was no stallion. He was a jack. 

An ass.

His equine parts were shaggy with matted fur, colored a salt-and-pepper chestnut. He had a short fat tail that hung limply, but his body still trembled as the man pulled on the rope around his neck. 

“’ere, lassie,” he said, snorting his running nose. “Jackie’s been flogged to listen. Mostly. Be careful, now, ye ken?” He handed the rope to Belle, who took it mutely.

He was right about the flogging part, much to her horror. The ropes tying him looked tight enough, but his bare skin had multiple marks of red adorning it. On the jack’s right shoulder was a mark hard to miss. Someone had taken a branding iron and seared a crude, permanent scar on him. Belle was horrified by his previous treatment.

“Thanks…” she said, squeezing the rope in her hand. “Where in God’s name did you get him—?“

“Sorry, lassie,” the old man said, “Ah’m jus’ the deliverer. Time fer meh tae gae.”

Belle couldn’t do much except watch the man climb back on his horse and turn back around.

“Sweet God,” she muttered as the man became farther and farther from them. Now she stood with her new Taur. A crippled, beaten, mistreated Taur.

She turned to him. He hadn’t said anything, or moved much even, but kept his head down. Tsking, she let go of his rope and reached for his restraints. “This isn’t how I imagined us meeting,” she said softly, tugging on the ties to lead him into the fenced land. “But my name is Belle. What’s yours?”

The jack refrained from speaking, but she went on to untying him anyway once she had them both behind a locked gate. Slowly his restraints came free, and the ropes fell to the ground leaving the Taur free.

She pulled the bag off his head.

Instantly taken off guard, the jack jerked his head and skipped forward, nearly pushing Belle to the ground. Landing with a shocked gasp, Belle watched the jack buck wildly until the last of the rope came free, and the bag fell from his head.

He was older than any Taur she had met. His hair was more silvery than she expected, and his face was etched with lines of sorrow and age. His eyes, a golden sable color, blazed with feral, frightened energy. Snorting, the jack backed up, spun around, and bolted to in the opposite direction of her.

“Hey! Come back!” Gritting her teeth, she rolled upright and grabbed a rope that had a nice noose at the end. “I just want to talk!” she shouted, but didn’t attempt to chase him. Maybe it would be best to let the Taur explore before trying to be friends.

Unsurprisingly, he said nothing except to flick its matted tail in her direction. Belle crossed her arms and slowly walked toward him. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“And you—you expect me to believe that?” Stuttered the jack.

Belle’s eyebrows rose. Like the man who’d brought the onocentaur, the jack had a similar accent but it wasn’t as strong. “What’s your name?”

He just snorted, trotting around while frantically looking around the gated land. There was plenty of room for him to run around. What was he looking for?

Before she could get another proper word out, the jack began to back up into the side of the fence and—bucked!

Belle yelped in shock as the fence was kicked violently down in a cloud of sand. With a triumphant whine, her Taur took off in a limp run. 

“HEY!” She yelled, making the rope as she leapt into a fast sprint in the jack’s direction.

Donkeys weren’t as fast as horses, she had observed, but strength-wise they were not to be trifled with. This jack was either foolish or very brave, for he abruptly spun around and reared up to face her. Legs spread in a fighting stance, eyes set hard, it was clear he would rather fight than run. 

Belle gripped the lasso in her hand, waving it back and forth in warning. “Stand down,” she ordered, heart beating rapidly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

He snorted and said something—it wasn’t in English. Yet she knew he could understand. Careening to the side, the jack skipped until he was nearly behind her. Dust was kicked up in clouds, nearly blinding her and filling her mouth with grainy sand. Belle swung her lasso and darted forward, throwing the rope at him.

She missed, and the jack bounded away until he a reasonable ways from her. “Come back here, damnit!”

He gave her one last glance before, for real this time, turned and ran off. But Belle was not giving up easily. Huffing, she followed with a loud whoop of exertion. 

He spun and kicked, bucking madly so Belle couldn’t approach. His gaze, though, was thrown in multiple directions like a confused animal. She kept her distance, circling him, as the jack swiveled around with wide, frightened eyes.

“Back off!” he said, finally. “Let me go, miss, and I won’t hurt you!” The jack reared up and stamped his front legs, mad and feral.

“I can’t let you go, you ninny!” She threw the lasso at him, but he jumped back and avoided it. “You work for me, now!”

“I work for no one!” He barked, keeping his front to her as she circle him still. “Again, back off or I will hurt you!”

“No! You come here!”

“No!”

The jack suddenly turned. His haunches tightened. His front legs spread to support his weight. 

The moment understanding dawned on her, Belle jumped away as the onocentaurs brought his back legs up in a mighty, terrifying back kick that loomed over her. Belle spun and swung the lasso as his back legs were airborn.

It caught one of his ankles, and Belle pulled and jerked the rope until it clutched his limb.

With a loud yelp, the jack’s stability was tugged out from under him. He went down like a dead donkey, crashing onto the ground in a loud thud and a cloud of hot, sandy dust. The half-man kicked and flailed, but groaned in obvious pain.

Belle, refusing to let him recover, swooped over and saddled the junction where his equine and human parts met. She wrapped her hands around his neck, just like the books she’d read said. Strangulation was one of the best (and only) techniques in downing an untamed Taur singlehandedly. 

His pointy, furry ears flicked back and forth rapidly as she squeezed on the column of his slender neck. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she grunted, voice stained. “But you’re way out of line!”

“Fuck off!”

“Damn it, stand down!”

“You’re sitting on me!”

“Get up! Return to the farm!” She squeezed harder. He wheezed softly, cheeks red. “Now!”

“Fuck—gah!” With his whole body shaking in a terrifying way, legs wobbling greatly, the jack slowly moved to stand until he was upright on all fours, with Belle on him with her limbs squeezing his upper body.

“Now go! Ya!”

His ears flatted, but stayed silent as he limped back. Her rope was still tied around his back ankle, rendering him from going any faster than a slow walk. The entire time she kept her limbs firmly around him. 

“Now, go to barn, and open the door,” she ordered as they made their way back inside the fence. “And no funny business.” 

He snorted in response.

~.~.~.~

Belle was panting by the time they had settled. 

The jack was locked in the old horse stable, with rope tied around his wrists, and another around his human waist that kept him to a metal handle to tie reigns to. He wasn’t panicking anymore, but keep his face away from her and sat on his hind legs. She had never seen a centaur do that before, but he was a jack, not a stallion.

Light filtered in through the smudgy glass windows, but there was enough light to see without squinting or having to light a lamp. She huffed as she tossed some of the hay into the jack's stable. He ignored it.

“Are you hungry?”

He said nothing.

“Are the ropes too tight?”

Again, nothing.

“Do you have a name?”

He glared at her from over his shoulder. But it was weak, and his ears flattened and he lowered his eyes to the ground, lower lip trembling.

Belle sighed and crossed her arms, resting them over the side of the small stable. She rested her chin on her top hand. “I could call you Rumple. Because of your fur. Does it bother you, it being so long?”

“…”

“Will you speak to me?”

“…”

“Fine, have it your way. Rumple.”

Rumple let out a soft whine. Twisting her mouth in a concerned line, Belle walked away until she reached the barn doors. 

It opened before she could speak. Her father, glaring daggers, lumbered inside with his sleeved rolled up to his elbows, and sweat dampening his shirt. “You really fucking did it, huh?”

“Yes. This is Rumple.”

“Stupid name,” her father grumbled, marching over to the mute jack. It was hot out, but he was shivering in his dark corner of the barn. “Well, boy, what can you do?”

Rumple backed away until his hind bumped into the farthest corner.

“Um, Father, he’s pretty tired from his trip—“

Moe ignored his daughter in favor of picking up a poker from the wall of rusty metal tools. “I asked you a question, Taur.”

“Father—“ But he didn't listen. The old pudgy man waddled over to the stable to leer at the onocentar, glaring over a mouthful of half-rotten teeth.

"What do you do, TAUR?"

Rumple was going white in the face. "I-I-I uh--"

Moe didn't give the jack time to answer.

“ _AAH!_ ” The jack let out a painful scream, rearing up to kick his front legs forward in a protective stance. Moe had struck the beast in the side with the sharp end of the poker, drawing out a ear-piercing cry. 

“STOP!” Belle shouted, running to wrench the poker from her father’s grubby hands. “You can’t just do that!”

“Don’t tell me what to do, girl!” Hollered Moe, spitting in the young woman’s face. “You got this beast, but it’s under my roof! I’ll do as I well please!”

“He’s a person!”

“Taurs are _not people!_ ”

Belle, barely given a moment to respond, was silenced with a loud, sharp slap across her face. Gasping, she fell back into a pile of hay beside the jack’s stable. He was prancing most anxiously inside, whining in pain while desperately trying to knock the walls down. The room fell into a tense, near painful period of silence as Moe stood there panting, looming over Belle as she stared up with fear of being hit again. Rumple, for his part, was silent besides his panting and the clopping of his hooves against the dirt floor. The hay under her shifted and rustled as she struggled to sit up.

With a breath heavy with whiskey, Moe spat, “Whip it into shape, will ya? It’s giving me a fucking headache!”

And her father left, slamming the barn door behind him.

"He hit you," Rumple, much to her shock, managed to say once Moe's footsteps faded. 

Belle shrugged as she stood up. Rubbing her stinging cheek, she says, "We're very stressed. Times are tough."

"Then _change_ it," he sneered through a curled lip, looking miserable. 

She shoot him a curious glance. Rumple sure did have attitude. But they were going to have to get along, even if Belle had to resort to more... physical methods, like earlier. Unhappily, she looked toward the horse crop on the wall. 

Belle turned back to the jack. "I am. You're here."


	4. Bath Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy, heathens.

Rumple looked terrible.

It was because, Belle supposed, of his big puppy-dog eyes gazing somberly through a raggedy mane of silver-tinted hair, hanging in his face like a curtain of tangles. Or it could’ve been all the marks on his upper torso, standing out like angry red beacons.

“Aren’t you hot?” She asked with a breathless pant, breaking the painful silence between them. In response, the jack flicked his tail through his carpet-like fur.

Belle was working on her meager garden—some sweet potatoes and beans. A few carrots, and not to mention her apple tree. But apples weren’t in season yet. Besides her “farming”, she had to milk her goats and clean out their fold, then clean up in the house and do the laundry and cook meals and—everything. The goats nibbled the hay she had left out in the field, minding their own business as usual.

“I think I’d like to give you a nice bath,” she said, straitening up with a hot spark of pain flaring up her back. Groaning, pressing against the small of her back, Belle turned to face him. She’d left the barn open to see him, just incase he got any funny ideas while she let Rumple’s stall door open. Her lasso hung at her belt, swinging with her swayed stride.

“Humph,” the jack grunted. “Ye can sure as hell try, dearie, but you’d be at it for hours.”

Belle wiped her hands on her pants, walking up to him. “Then I’ll shave you first—no. I think I’d wash you first, and then cut all this hair off. I bet we can sell it, hmm? Make some yarn from it.”

Glancing at his matted donkey fur, the jack shrugged with barely concealed indifference. 

Making up her mind, Belle went to get the great big metal basin hanging on the barn wall. Heaving it down by the handles, she tossed it down on the dusty floor by the onocentaur’s hooves. Scooting it under the hand pump, she glanced to her jack and said, “Fill this and I’ll give you a treat." 

This caused Rumple to glare—albeit weakly. She returned his rather rude look and got a washcloth and razors from the house.

Since their first trifle the day he was brought to her, Rumple seemed to get it through that thick skull of his that he was here to stay until further notice. Concluding, he quickly became much more easier to handle than she expected from the first time. Rumple didn’t talk much, only when spoken to, and only on occasion when it was that.

Though she was constantly keeping a wary eye on him, Rumple’s shift in behavior was much more docile. But that could be chalked up to his ankle, too.

She’d hurt it fairly bad that day she lassoed her.

Today, though, they would finally be getting somewhere. Starting with a bath.

“Tomorrow is rent day,” she told him seriously as he began to fill the basin. “Perhaps I was too hopeful about this. I’ll be gone most of the day tomorrow, Rumple. But, after that, we’re putting our noses to the grind stone.”

“If you don’t have the money to pay rent,” the jack deadpanned, “then how the hell do you pay for it?”

“The usual way.”

“Oh?” Rumple’s left brow rose into his hairline. “Then why need me if you’re so set?”

“Because I’m kinda tired of sucking the landlord's cock just to keep a roof over my head, alright?”

Rumple’s breath hitched. He was staring at her, she could feel it, and it almost hurt, but Belle refused to meet his gaze as she pulled out the sheep shears. It would need to be sharpened. 

“That’s not right,” he said softly. “It isn’t right.”

“Just be quiet, please? And stop with the pump—that’s enough water. Stand in the middle of the room.”

Rumple did so, but with his arms crossed. “And you’re doing _that_ to him tomorrow? Just so _casually?_ ”

“Shut up, will you?” She whined. “I don’t want to hear the whole “I’m going to Hell” thing again, so you can keep your trap shut.”

And so he did.

Quietly, Rumple stood in the open space of the tiny barn as Belle dragged the sloshing basin over, along with her shears and soup. Neither of them spoke, but the silence between them was an awkward mix of wordless reverence and confused muteness. Belle took a small bucket and filled it with water, lathered some soup in, and poured it over his lower back. He shivered, muttering something in that language she was unfamiliar with, but didn’t complain about the temperature.

His fur was not soft—it was rough and matted from hours in the sun and dirt, and the tangled caught in her fingers so quick that Belle’s patience rapidly dwindled until she decided to just cut it all off. There was no saving this fur.

And so, Belle took her shears and began to wack the thick mountains of his near-impenetrable coat, baffled by the piles and piles that accumulated around her feet and his hooves.

“Holy Gods above,” he groaned in what only sounded like pure bliss. 

“And we’re not even done yet,” she mused aloud, stepping over a mound of discarded hair. She cut offer another handful, trying to get as close to his skin without cutting _him_. “There’s so much.”

“ _Heeeeh_ ,” grunted the jack in response in one long exhale.

At some point, Rumple migrated over toward the stall’s door so he could lean his hands on the side. Holding his upper torso up, he was able to relax more and sigh with her careful ministrations. 

Finally, to her hand’s releaf, the last chunk of matted hair fell to the ground in a audible phump. She sighed, readjusting her grip on her shears. Belle patted Rumple on his haunches, amused to see the shear bliss on his relieved face. He must have lost a few pounds, at least! Smirking, she came around to his front to look at his face. His beard was thick, covering his muzzle in a nice gray-and-brown coat. It would have to go, though. She set the shears aside and picked up a single razor blade. Belle tapped his chin to tilt his head up. He shot her a suspicious glower, but did as told.

Her blade scraped across his skin in that familiar _shick_ sound, cutting away hair in slow movements. It fell away, step by step, until his sharp and age-bothered face was visible to her.

He was a handsome Taur, she’d give him that.

Maybe a little too handsome. 

Belle shook her head. No. No, no, no. People could be arrested for messing around with half-men like Rumple here. It wasn't--right, as they said. Pushing the thought of doing the naughty with a Taur, Belle patted him on the shoulder before abandoning the razor blade on the table. Rumple snorted, but turned away with a flare of redness on his cheeks. Was he still hot? She could fix that. Belle picked up the pail and filled it with soup water. 

And tossed it on him.

Yelping, Rumple’s relaxed stance vanished like an extinguished fire before jumping—jumping!—backwards in a pony-like jolt.

Belle covered her mouth to stifle her giggle. “It’s just water,” she said, filling the pail again. “And soup.”

“You could’ve warned me it was cold, dearie!”

“Oh, don’t be such a whiny bitch,” she tutted, splashing him again with the cold water. “Now stay still so I can get behind your ears.”

On cue, his pointed ears twitched in anything that wasn’t amusement. “I’m not here for your entertainment.”

“Perish the thought.”

Snorting, Rumple went still and let her do what she saw fit, allowing her to scrub soup onto his lower body in firm strokes with the cloth. Suds forming, she moved toward his back haunches, front haunches, and to his waist—a skinny, rib-showing waist that became paler as she washed away the layers of filth. Sun had tanned his skin, but it wasn't as yucky without the dirt on him.

A single strip of hair tailed down his neck and spine. It ran down into his donkey body, stopping at the middle of his lower back. His upper back arched as she splashed more soapy water on his bare skin. 

Eventually it was clear that Rumple was ready to be off his legs—with a loud exhale and no warning, the jack’s legs bent until he flopped onto his underbelly, and then rolling onto his cleanest side. His whole body seemed to deflate with another sigh. 

Belle crouched beside him, scrubbing his upper shoulders. “Like this?”

His tail flicked. “Yeah, dearie. That’s nice.”

She grinned. “Mhmm, I can see.”

And she _could_ see it.

She’d seen the other centaurs in town—the males, specifically, in regards to their anatomy. She’d seen them show off their equipment. Ridiculously hung, hanging like a giant limp noodle between their back legs. With Rumple, she expected no different if his penis exited its sheath, but a donkey was not a horse.

The long half-limp shaft was a shade between dark gray and light black, with a pinkish flat tip, and a few mottled pink spots around the entire long base. It had to have been as thick and as long as her forearm. When she moved her scrubbing down his front left haunch, a donkey’s shoulder, the shaft twitched.

“I’m guessing it’s hard to get off,” Belle surmised aloud, “when you can’t touch your own cock.”

At this, Rumple’s form tensed up in instant alarm. His head shot up, and he stared at her in surprise. One of his back legs stretched out, and upon feeling his exposed genitals, he bolted upright. 

“I don’t mind.”

“Yes, well, I do,” he huffed. Tail flicking in annoyance, the jack said, “I think you’ve done enough today. I’m clean.”

“I still need to do your hair.”

“It’s fine, I like it long.”

“Are you sure?”

“Aye.”

“It needs washing too.”

“I’ll do it myself.”

“What about your underbelly?” 

“I’m fine! I’d like privacy, if it’s not too hard to notice!”

Belle shook her head. “Don’t be silly. I get it, it was out of your control. And really, I don’t mind. I’m flattered.”

Her Taur shook his head, but his body sunk down onto his lower legs’ knees, until he had them tucked securely under him. 

Warily, he watched her dragged the basin of water closer until she could kneel before him as well. Belle patted him on the shoulder before dunking the pail in water, and soaking his head. The jack let her wash him, but stayed taut as ever.

“I still want to wash your belly,” she said, ringing the wash cloth in the basin as she finished rinsing his hair. 

“Maybe—maybe later.”

“Oh, god, are you still embarrassed? It’s fine. I’ve seen enough cocks in my life.”

“And you’re still awfully young,” complained the jack. “And _underdressed_.”

Belle wanted to smack him for that. Having the townspeople disapprove of her change in clothing—not that she really wanted to wear pants, it was more of necessity. Belle still missed her fine dresses, but those were given away years ago—but her Taur? That crossed a line. 

Though having him tell her she was underdressed—she wore her best pair of slacks and a decent white dress shirt. What was—Oh.

White. It was _white_.

Belle glanced down to her shirt and found her top soaked through and through, exposing her torso of white pale skin and pert pink nipples. She’d forgone her bodice earlier because it was too hot, and her father was at the saloon again; no one would see her bosom showing. But here, in the half light of the barn with sunlight pouring through the small windows and cracks in the walls, and water dripping from her soggy shirt—Rumple practically had a show just for him.

Now she was the one embarrassed!

But Belle wasn’t going to give in—give into what, though, she wasn’t sure, but she wanted Rumple to trust her and be comfortable here. If showing off her titties was the answer, then so be it.

Belle took a deep breath in and pushed her chest up. “Do they bother you?”

“What? No—I mean, yes, wait, no—! I mean, you’re _lovely_ but—“

She chuckled. His fluster was a nice change from the usual reaction of men when she had to do this. Typically she would be getting groped at this point, not stared at like she was a hallucination of a dying man. 

His sable eyes stared at her in shock, mouth nearly gapping at her brazen wantonness. Though, Belle found, it was not rude to her. 

Encouraged by his lack of taking immediate dominance over what was potentially being offered, Belle rolled her shoulders until she was on all fours, wiggling her hips to entice. His breath hitched, and he watched, entranced, as she crawled to his lower body. “Roll over,” she demanded with a soft voice, "and I'll give you your treat."

Rumple rolled over. His legs, though bunched up as if to shield himself from her hungry, curious gaze.

“Still lovely?” She asked, unbuttoning the top of her shirt to show her breasts.

“Uh—“

Belle smiled to herself as she reached over to snatch the washcloth back. Curious, she watched as his whole body continued to stay tense, but let her see his previously guarded underbelly.

His cock hadn’t changed from its state of half-erect, so Belle smacked his rear haunches with the cloth. He jolted.

“Good boy.”

“Miss Fren—“

“Shh,” she soothed, petting his short fur. “If you really don’t want to take a load off then say ‘whiskey’. If you want me to, then be quiet.”

Rumple’s brows twitched in thought, eyes flickering back to her, to the basin of water, to his discarded piles of matted fur, and then back to her. “Fuck, okay.”

“Good boy,” she praised again, pleased with this. 

Slowly, she brought her hands to his cock. It twitched at her touch, but Rumple didn’t say a word as she turned her soft little touches into a full on grip.

The jack gasped as Belle used both of her hands to grasp him. She felt hot and wild and naughty as his long shaft flared to life under her menstruations, straining in her little hands like a snake. His skin was soft and warm, moving over a rod-hard core. 

“Oh my god, this is so hot,” she said unexpectedly, speeding up her hands as his first moan escaped his lips. His upper torso twisted in what almost seemed like agony, but he whimpered and panted and sobbed at her firm strokes. Feeling much more courageous, Belle bent over and brought the donkey’s erection to her mouth. The size, to be honest, intimidated her.

The head of the member was mostly flat, but rimmed and swollen. A slit as big as her pinky tip caught her attention, and the little hood around it reminded her of her own clit. Taking the risk, and being mindful of his jerking legs, Belle’s tongue shot out to lick his cock’s head.

“ _FUCK!_ ” Rumple shouted, making that signature hee-haw of a donkey. His back legs kicked and his haunches bucked toward her, begging for more touch. Belle hummed and lapped at him. 

Sucking, tugging, stroking—he was putty in her hands. He, though, was not one inclined to being pinned down, and Rumple’s body convulsed as he somehow staggered to his hooves, thrusting blindly as the tip of him stayed in Belle’s mouth. Moving to allow him to stand, but refusing to take his cock’s head from her mouth, she sucked harder and used both hands to stroke his shaft.

“I’m gonna—“ he tried, panting aloud as his tip fucked her sweet little mouth. “I’m gonna—“ Belle hummed around him, giving him a firm tug. She felt him drip in the back of her throat, tasteless for now, but she needed to relax her jaw so she scooted back, gripping him in one hand as her tongue flickered at his slit. Drooling on him, she breathed hotly on his head and—

He cried out like a true jack, bucking his rear as thick, hot spurts of his come came splashing across her mouth. Dripping, it shot onto her damp top and neck, in her hair and on her face. Gasping for breath, she continued to lick him through his orgasm like a woman possessed.

His member fell limp. Steadily, in front of his pretty pair of dark balls, which she was just now really noticing, the cock shrunk and was drawn up, until it was just a bud of his retracted penis. 

“Holy _fuck_.”

Belle coughed up a mouthful of his pearly white fluids, shocked at the amount. Unlike a man’s semen, it didn’t have the same taste—but it wasn’t a bad thing, she found. It was just too much.

“Fuck me,” he cussed again, walking awkwardly as a baby colt. “Oh, fuck me. What the hell was that, dearie?”

“Satisfied?” She mumbled, grunting at the pain flaring in her knees and wrists. _So much fucking come. And my jaw…_ “Wow.” Wow was right. 

Really, what the hell was that? What in fuck's name was she thinking? Giving head to a Taur. Fuck.

Now she was really in deep shit.

**Author's Note:**

> i regret nothing


End file.
